


breathin'

by ThKdsArntAlrght



Series: Sweetener [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, F/M, Graphic Description, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slash, Suicidal Draco Malfoy, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThKdsArntAlrght/pseuds/ThKdsArntAlrght
Summary: Post-war, Draco is lost and listless. The whole world seems to be against him, and he has no where to go. With no future plans and his parents in France, he decides that the world is better off without him.The last thing he expects is to survive and have the wizarding world's Savior at his bedside next to his mother. After all, they're enemies, so why does Potter even care?When Draco needs a reminder to keep on breathing, Harry is there to give it.





	breathin'

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i've been in the harry potter fandom since, well, forever. this is the first thing i've ever written for it, despite the large amounts of fanfic and headcanons i've read. please be gentle with me!
> 
> -
> 
> trigger warnings: mentions of anxiety, depression, and ptsd. graphic suicidal thoughts and suicide attempt. a lot of self hatred on draco's part.

   Draco stared at the wall. He wasn't sure why he thought he could ever deserve nice things. Especially after every horrible, nasty thing he's ever done and said. If that wasn't bad enough, he's the son of Death Eaters. While he may love them, the rest of the world had absolutely no reason to.

 

   By extension, the rest of the world had no reason to love him. The families attached to his name-Black and Malfoy-were known for racism and cruelty. He'd grown up being fed pureblood values. Anytime life got hard, he'd spew them out and use them as a defense. His father's teachings kept him grounded.

 

_A Malfoy does not cry._

_A Malfoy shows no weakness._

_A Malfoy is superior._

_A Malfoy does not cry._

 

   It was these sentiments that Draco had held close every time he came close to a break down. He was a teen, a child, forced to play the role of an adult in a war that had never been his to fight. He was forced to become the minion of a monster who would not hesitate to take the life of his beloved Mother, the only person in the world he was absolutely certain that he loved.

 

   Narcissa Black-Malfoy was seen as cold and unforgiving by most, but in reality, she had simply done whatever it took to keep her family safe. She knew her husband had done unspeakable things. For that, she had never truly forgiven him. Yet she stayed by his side and love him regardless.

 

   The blond picked up the bottle of pills his psychiatrist had prescribed him. Mind healers had become much more common, accessible, and accepted in the wizarding world after the war left so many with depression, anxiety, PTSD, or all three. Draco had been one of the unfortunate ones who had been diagnosed for all three. He saw two mind healers: a therapist and a psychiatrist. 

 

   They said he would feel better someday. They said he would get through it. He briefly wondered when that would be. Lucius narrowly escaped and Azkaban sentence. Instead, he was on house arrest in France. Narcissa was with him. She had saved Harry Potter's life, so she had not been charged.

 

   In addition to that, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice had personally testified on each of the Malfoy’s behalf. Draco knew he should be thankful, but the whole thing left a really bad taste in his mouth. Leave it to Saint Potter to take pity on the bad guys and save them from a fate far worse than death. 

 

   Really, Draco didn't believe that there was such a thing as him getting better. Malfoy Manor was filled with bad memories now. He'd released all the house elves that had stayed-a whooping two. The rest were in France and that suited him just fine. Hell, for all he cared, Malfoy Manor could burn down with him in it.

 

   The thought was tempting. He imagined “accidentally” knocking over a candle and letting the whole place go down in flames. There were no neighbors nearby, and if anyone happened to be around, he was sure they would conveniently not notice the demise of a property that belonged to a disgraced, much hated family.

 

   In the end, he thought of how much history the manor had. Surely one day the Malfoy name would rise to prominence and mean something again. In that case, his family would definitely want their artifacts and heirlooms. His grip tightened around the bottle in his hand. He couldn't destroy the manor, but he could certainly destroy himself.

 

   It would be for the better. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were no longer threats. The public did not fear them as one of them was not free and the other was not viewed as innately evil. On the other hand, Draco was a free man and a threat. His death would humanize his parents; those who lost loved ones in the war and to the devastation of a post-war mindset would be able to sympathize with his parents. 

 

   Really, Draco was doing everyone a favor. All it would take was a handful of pills and a swig of water and the life of a little dragon could be snuffed out. It was that simple. He could hardly deny his parents the ability to restart their lives. Maybe his mother would have another, better child. Maybe she would find a surrogate son like Molly had in Harry and Harry had in little Teddy Lupin.

 

   The young man forced himself off of his bed and into his kitchen. He got a glass of water, wiped the dust off and filled it from the tap. His mouth and lips were chapped and dry and his stomach growled from the lack of food. He nearly dropped the glass before he could even take a drink.

 

   Somehow, he managed. He set the glass down on his table long enough to uncap the pill bottle and dump most of them into his hand. He popped them into his mouth and tossed back the glass of water like a shot, choking down as many as he could. Mere moments later, his vision began to swim and he fell to his knees, taking the small work table and glass down with him. He felt shards of glass and wood enter his hands and knees as he desperately tried to crawl to the living room.

 

Regret filled him instantly. He was glad he was dying, but he knew Narcissa Malfoy had given _everything_ up for him, her only son. He owed her an apology and one last hug. Instead, he used one of the only untainted happy memories he had from growing up-gardening with her-and sent a patronus.

 

_‘I love you, Mother. I'm sorry. I truly am. I love you.’_

 

   He watched the little ferret bounce off. He prayed that whatever was out there would smile on him enough to allow his dying words to reach his Mother in France. A weak smile crossed his face as he imagined that happy memory one last time.

 

   Seconds later, he succumbed to the pull on his eyelids. With that final smile and thoughts of the Malfoy matriarch dancing in his head, the Malfoy heir gave into the call of the void, falling asleep for what he expected to be the final time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope that wasn't too awful. it was basically me being an angsty, depressed teenager and needing a creative outlet to vent into. i poured all that into poor draco. hopefully, he wasn't too ooc.


End file.
